Dear Miss Valentine
by ilexx
Summary: Written for Beka Day


Usual disclaimer... Don't owe anything, etc...

Set on Shintaida, during IHNAT, sometime between their ‚success' and their departure with the Engine of Creation. There must have been some sort of celebration afterwards... and a reason for Dylan to go on that crazy trip in the first place. And what better reason for something that crazy than pleasing Beka on Valentine's Day?

**Dear Miss Valentine**

Our dinner last year, on Sinti 4, right after you pulled the Perseids back into the CW... It was only much, much later that I was told that I had incidentally picked the night of one of Earth's celebrations: Valentine's Day. Go figure – you have a celebration of your own.

I wish I would have known then... I might have come up with something more appropriate, more original, more fitting – to celebrate not only your success, but you as well. I remember that Tyr had plundered Hydroponics, offering you the most beautiful roses Trance had managed to grow in there, bravely facing one of her dreaded „Yeehaw"s for his audacity. Rev had this scent he had mixed especially for you, using up half the deodorant supplies we had in store for it. And even your brother sent you back your CD-collection (trust Rafe to make the best impression while going through the least amount of trouble). I didn't know what the whole thing was all about; I knew it wasn't your birthday, nor any other family related anniversary. But it was only when Harper brought you this enormous 3 kg box with Argyle chocolates that Trance observed my inquiring looks and told me. I wish I'd known; well, at least we had dinner together.

I know that it's been a year to this day. And I'm sorry that things have been so awkward those past months – with Rev's departure, Trance's change, Harper barely making it through his infestation, Tyr's growing... evasiveness, the business with Bobby, the scary Bokhor-experience. That's why I agreed to this trip of yours. According to Trance, you apparently always feel an urge to pull a crazy stunt like that around this time of the year. She says that you hate the fuss – and miss it, when no-one cares. She says that you actually were disappointed to hear that Harper and Rommie had taken their leave now of all times, but it was really a ‚take it or leave it'- offer, and a limited time option. She also said that she warned you that Tyr would be in danger if coming along – and that he then declined to accompany you after hearing this. But that he offered you a self-made painting. One that you found... lacking. And that you were torn between resenting Harper for sticking to your wish to no longer pay attention and resenting Tyr for not granting your wish.

I hope you can make up your mind until next year, so that I might know by then whether I am supposed to do or not do something in order to earn myself your wrath. That I apparently dodged this time by coming along. You thought it would be fun, you thought you would really get this Engine-thing. And now you have it. I wonder if it works; I suppose it doesn't, but I'll be damned if I tell you. Not now, not tonight.

Those people around us, celebrating our victory – or possibly the fact that they've gotten rid of the stupid thing, Trance chatting happily along with her... friend/cousin/relative – I find the guy even more intriguing than the engine. Would you have thought we'd ever come across someone else like Trance? Looking like golden Trance, but having a lovely shade of blue and this playful silliness reminding me more of Trance when she was purple. One of these days I'd like to have an answer from her about where she comes from. Our so-called competitors sitting across the fire-place, watching the dances, listening to the chants, looking dead on their feet. We got them good, haven't we?... Although: I almost got myself killed when you started kicking the ‚lady's' butt. I almost couldn't tear my eyes off you. Chicks can't fight? Well, it much depends on the chick, I'd say. You are quite a sight to admire when fighting, dear Miss Valentine, and otherwise too.

I think I had too much to drink already. I don't know what this sweet stuff is, but it's definitely having more effect than just provoking a tooth-ache. I'm struggling to get a grip, to keep up some sort of a captain's attitude, but after all I'm not in charge around here, **you **are. And you're not keeping up much of a captain's attitude either, if I may say so. You sit too close to me, you look much too cute with this mud spot on your nose, you're coming much too near when you're throwing me one of your funny remarks on the 'show': the dancing, singing, hopping that we're being offered. On nights like this I wish we were somewhere else, we were somebody different, we had another story together – or at least that there was a cold shower someplace nearby.

Don't get closer, Beka. Or, if you do, tell me what you want... Clearly. You look at me as if there were certain words you'd like to hear from me, words that one only says in a low voice, in moments much more private than these. Would you really? It's not as if you couldn't whisper them to me yourself, if you wanted to go for it; but what you really whisper to me is nothing of the sort. How you do it, though... your lips so close to my ear that I can feel your breath, your arm almost on my shoulder, yet never touching it... Damn' it Beka, if you want something tonight, you'll better go for it soon.

You look content, relaxed, pleased... like one of those cats from Earth Harper told us about – one that just had a delicious dinner. And now only plays with the one mouse left alive for pure entertainment reasons. It would be a wonderful sight – if I wouldn't have the distinct feeling of me being the mouse around here. From time to time I sense your hand coming softly closer, stopping right above my arm, withdrawing – and surreptitiously approaching me again, my head, my face, my neck, holding in, hesitating... Are you afraid? Or are you just viciously amusing yourself?

Shintaida is a really strange place: antique weapons, half-naked braves, elaborate traps, sophisticated security, barbaric food served on silver plates and intoxicating drinks offered in tall crystal glasses, cooled with ice cubes. From time to time you throw one of those amazingly smoky-blue looks at me, your eyes sparkling at mine from across the ice cubes in your glass, you open your mouth as if wanting to make an announcement, then suddenly, abruptly you seem to change your mind, your eyes invite me over, then avoid me, insisting, withdrawing again, and then you let your fingers trace promises down the side of your neck, keeping me on the edge whenever I decide that I'm just imagining things.

If this continues like this, it will turn out to be one of the longest nights of my life. I wish I wouldn't have the feeling that all we went through together was leading to this – and to all that might come out of this. Do you actually have an idea what THIS is all about? I don't...

I wish I'd be more daring, but I'm not. Not on this one. I wish, I could just order you to close your eyes and tell me all that goes on in your head right now, all that you never said – and that we might do... If you want this tonight, you'll have to be the daring one... For once I think that we could give ourselves the time we need, after all there is still a lot of this Valentine adventure, Valentine trip, Valentine night left; but it is you who'll have to make the first move, because I really don't think that I can come up with enough courage. What if I'm wrong? But then again: what if I'm right? A bit surprising really, I'm not exactly the shy type, but tonight I'd so love it for you to be the one to make the first move...

As it is right now, all I can do is play along and pray for you to make up your mind... or for a sudden Magog-attack to distract me! Or this night to be over... And have some more to drink.

Some game you're playing here, dear Miss Valentine...


End file.
